


but he doesn't

by lester_sheehan



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 04:59:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3277634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lester_sheehan/pseuds/lester_sheehan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the events of episode 3, as Ellie leaves the courtroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but he doesn't

“Thank you, PC Miller.”

Ellie closes her eyes for just a moment, one sparing, fleeting moment, but it’s enough. Enough to make her want the dark, the nothingness, the empty space. She tries to breathe but air seems sparse. Keeping her face composed- or, at the very least, trying to- she steps down from the stand.

She can feel their eyes on her, following her movements, tracing her steps. She feels their anger and their seething, burning fury. She feels it and she knows it, and above all, she welcomes it. For, despite all that she has been through, Ellie Miller believes that she deserves it.

The courtroom doors swing open before her. She thinks she hears Alec call her name, but the pounding in her head and the thrashing in her skull make it almost impossible to tell. Her vision is tainted, colours fading at the corners of her eyes. Everything is bland and drained and oh, so haunted. Edges seem to shimmer, lights appear to fizzle out, and she knows that she must get outside. Feel the air, smell the ocean. Realise that she is still alive.

If only that fact made her happy.

She walks until the courtroom is out of sight, until her legs ache and her stomach churns and even the gulls above grow tired. She feels empty: desolate and worn. She wishes for nothing more than to stop. Perhaps not fully registering her actions, Ellie sinks to the ground. Feels the grass beneath her hands, holds it tight between curled fingers. Mud sinks into her nails, but she can’t bring herself to care.

The sun is beginning to set, colours stretched out across the blue, as though the sky itself is bleeding watercolours of orange trees and tulips. In the past, back in a time that she can’t bear to even think about, Ellie- the old Ellie- would have smiled. Reveled in the sight, seen its worth. But now? She sees no colour, shine, or glory. Only despair. And she’s drowning in it.

Ellie Miller, ex-detective, ex-friend, ex-wife, and exhausted mother, just needs a hand to hold onto. A life preserver to be thrown. But what she needs, and the chaos she is handed, are two different things entirely.

She pushes herself up and walks steadily towards the edge of the cliff. The cliff that Danny Latimer was once found below. She feels the wind whip past her face like a thousand tiny lashes; she feels the cool air at the back of her throat and a burning sensation in her eyes. She feels everything, and yet nothing at all.

Running a hand down her face, she pushes the images aside. Snapshots she shouldn’t be seeing, thoughts that couldn’t be contemplated. _You deserve this_ , she tells herself, _so now you’ll live it through_.

The steps back are infinitely harder than the ones there ever were. It’s harder to pull yourself back from a place, a thought, an idea. Harder to stop something once it’s already began.

"Miller?" She hears him before she sees him. Waiting outside the courtroom, phone in hand. "I tried calling you. Where have you been?" The accent is thick, layered with worry.

“Out,” she says, adjusting her shoulder bag, the strap beginning to dig in.

Alec gets to his feet and strides towards her, trying to appear calm. “Right. And I’ve been for lunch at The Ritz Hotel.”

“I’m not dealing with this shit right now, sir,” she mutters, turning her back to him.

He touches her arm and she stops for just a moment, frozen in place. Silent tears fall down her cheeks. She hastily wipes them away. With a curt nod and a false smile, she leaves.

He stares at her as she walks, at her slow and solemn movements. She keeps her eyes fixated on the ground ahead, as though she can’t bear to meet anyone’s eyes. It’s sad to watch, but it must be even harder to live through.

And for a split second, he considers following her. Making sure she’s okay. Talking things through if she wishes.

But he doesn’t.


End file.
